


Obviously Haunted

by Choke-a-Bro (Vanya_Deyja)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: AU, Asshole boyfriends, M/M, Slice of Life, but they still decide to be supervillians so like not that much of an AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:33:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23139289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanya_Deyja/pseuds/Choke-a-Bro
Summary: Verstael is destitute after the fall of Niflheim. He leaves Gralea with almost nothing. The house he's trying to build a new life in is obviously cursed, haunted or both but he doesn't have many options here. Perhaps diplomacy is an option with the unknown malevolence lurking in his basement?
Relationships: Verstael Besithia/Ardyn Izunia
Comments: 18
Kudos: 67





	Obviously Haunted

Verstael doesn't have many opportunities after Niflheim is conquered save to go into hiding in a little house on the shit hole that is Angelgard. It's a lone, old, house on a rocky island near the much more scenic Galdin Quay. It's only because no one wants it that he can afford it on the meagre sum he was able to smuggle out of Niflheim. 

His ministry position, his ancestral title, his laboratory. It's all gone. All he can do is make some money selling chemical concoctions and drugs to hunters, addicts, and criminals. 

Needless to say he needs to make this work for a while but, it becomes very apparent, that the house is _incredibly_ haunted. Or cursed. Maybe even both. The island itself is a shit hole. Nothing grows save a few gnarled trees, moss and some craggy grass. Animals avoid the rock obsessively and whenever Verstael does find life on the island its freshly dead. Besides that Verstael can't deny he feels a sharp, ever watchful, presence in the house wafting up from the basement and seeping into everything. It's worst at night when things move about the house or strange noises rattle up the pipes. 

There isn't much magic in Niflheim. Verstael doesn't have ancestral knowledge or tradition to fall back on. He doesn't know how he should respond to this. Evidently the Lucians don't have any better ideas otherwise they would've exorcised the house a long time ago. 

Eventually, one cold, stormy, night Verstael takes a deep breath and sits himself on the top stair of the landing that leads into the basement.

"Hey," he greets. "Apologies for not properly introducing myself earlier. It's Verstael. Listen, I..." He feels stupid but he has to do _something_. "I don't have many options right now. I get the impression you're not fond of company but I really need somewhere to stay for a while. I'm willing to make concessions to be a more accommodating roommate. Especially given I'm technically in your house and all that. Can you work with me a little here?" 

There's a pause, a heavy silence, but Verstael feels the thing staring up at him from the pitch darkness of the basement. It’s the silence of someone thinking not an empty, unoccupied, silence. 

Eventually a deep, rasping, whisper comes up the stairs in what Verstael recognises as Lucian but which is accented oddly;

" _Leave the door closed._ "

Verstael swallows and nods. "Of course." 

And Verstael stands up, gingerly closes the door but doesn't lock it, and heads back up to bed. 

There are still odd noises in the night and things still move around downstairs but nothing comes up to the second floor towards his bedroom so Verstael takes that as a minor victory for now.

In the coming weeks Verstael periodically finds the door to the basement open when he comes downstairs in the morning. He shuts it gently, walks away, but after a few weeks he returns in the evening to hear knocking from the other side as he walks past.

Verstael pauses and presses up against the door; "Yes...?" He hesitates.

" _Thirst._ " Comes the ominous whisper.

Verstael isn't going to lie, that's a little off putting, but still...

"Give me a second," he urges, "I'll be right back."

He makes a cup of tea, stirs in a little honey, just like they used to make it back home and opening the door to the basement, just a little, hands it through the gap. The tea sits there, in his hand, for a moment but then something takes it from his grasp. Verstael pulls his hand back and shuts the door. Again, he doesn't lock it. 

He finds the teacup, unharmed, on the kitchen table the following morning.

Two days later the knocking comes while he's making dinner. This time he answers with a little more confidence.

"Yes?" 

" _Hunger_." The thing rasps.

"Can you smell it?" Verstael snorts. "It's almost done. I'll make you a plate."

There's a haggard exhale and Verstael pulls the door gently shut again. 

The dinner plate is presented in a few moments and, again, the creature takes it delicately out of his hand and down the stairs.

* * *

For a while things pass without much excitement. Verstael continues to try and forge connections in the underground. The illicit networks across Lucis begin to accept him and he starts to make a little more cash but it’s still unreliable, dangerous, work. He's got fake papers now. A fake passport and some other forms of ID so he can start applying for real jobs without too many questions but he can't exactly be honest on his resume. 

There's a vet clinic in Galdin that doesn't ask too many questions and is desperate for someone who understands hygiene practices and infection control. They take him when he shows some of the right knowledge. Then, finally, he has a steady income to build on but he still stays out late some nights trying to foster his criminal pursuits.

One night Verstael doesn't make it home till almost two am. He steps inside and the house feels cold. He doesn't flick the lights on and he can see down the hall the basement door is open.

"Are you up?" He calls cautiously, taking a few steps into the house.

He hears a rumbling grunt from the lounge, an animal like noise. 

"I'm sorry," Verstael begins, "I know this is your time but I had a really shitty day and I'm dying for a bath. You mind if I use the downstairs bathroom for a while?"

There's a pause.

" _Don't turn the lights on_." The creature instructs.

"Deal." Verstael promises.

Verstael spends a good hour in the bath, luxuriating his aching muscles in the hot water. The bathroom is dark but the moonlight is kind of soothing and atmospheric and Verstael could get used to such soothing settings. Outside the thin door the thing bustles about the rooms of the house, occasionally rasping or groaning, but otherwise leaves Verstael alone to do his thing. 

When Verstael does slink out of the tub and into some night clothes his eyes have thoroughly adjusted to the low light. He eases out into the house proper, telegraphing every step, and peeking into the lounge gets a glimpse of the tall, broad, humanoid shape of the thing in the living room. 

"I'm going to bed," he announces, "thank you."

The thing grunts its assent.

Again things settle. Verstael starts making slightly bigger portions so there's usually a little extra for his 'roommate' and he's always willing to make a cup of tea or such if the thing starts knocking. Some nights he comes home late and sore and he's much less worried about taking a bath or a shower or just coming downstairs in the middle of the night for a drink of water.

He comes down one night, quite groggy, just looking for that all important glass of water when he hears the thing step into the kitchen behind him.

He doesn't pivot. He stays perfectly still.

"You alright?" He asks, as nonchalantly as he can manage.

" _Thirst, Verstael_." It rumbles.

"Tea?" He supposes. 

" _Yes_ ," it rasps. 

"One moment," Verstael instructs, fetching the kettle.

There's a rustling, a few steps, and then the heavy sound of the thing sinking into a seat at the kitchen table.

Verstael makes the drink in the dark, faltering only for a moment when he has to grope for the honey in the pantry. The moonlight in the kitchen is a little murkier with the curtains mostly closed but he's not sure he wants to open them any wider and get a better look at his companion.

He doesn't know if this thing is a daemon or a phantom or what but he knows to be a little cautious. This is, after all, a marriage of necessity.

Verstael turns, pursing his lips, and places the teacup down on the table near the thing. It inhales, haggard, and murmurs;

" _Stay?_ " There's a slight inflection, a question. 

Verstael hesitates but does, eventually, settle into the chair on the opposing side of the table.

"You're talking more." Verstael remarks.

" _My strength is returning_ ," it whispers. " _But it comes slowly._ "

"That's good." Verstael can't be sure it is, not really, but for now it seems to be a good thing. "Thank you for working with me. I really need this place right now."

" _You are amicable_." It tells him. " _I like you more than the others. They were frightened easily._ " 

"Well lucky for me I'm stubborn." Verstael snorts.

" _I need to rest, to regain more strength_ ," the creature continues, " _would you lend me somewhere to nest? The underground is cold and hard.”_

Verstael hesitates. He could be stingy. They don't have much space to speak of even in the main body of the house. Some of the rooms are unusable right now too. He could take the middle ground, alternatively, and forfeit the couch but its lumpy and old. 

"You adverse to sharing a bed?" Verstael offers. 

He's not sure why he's so generous he just can't help but sympathise with this pitiful thing trying to piece its power back together. He used to be a man with some clout but now he's a desperate vagabond living in this shit hole. He'd want someone to help him.

" _I will repay you, Verstael_." The creature assures. 

"I look forward to it," Verstael shrugs. "Have your tea and come join me when you're ready. I need to get back to sleep. I have work tomorrow."

" _Goodnight."_

Verstael is still very much awake when the thing crawls heavy into bed with him twenty minutes later. It's big, that's for sure. Bigger than him easily. But it falls into a soft snore in minutes and Verstael, convincing himself it’s alright, is too tired to fight his own exhaustion much longer.

In the morning the other side of the bed is empty. But late that night, when Verstael has turned off all the lights, he hears it coming up the stairs again. It joins him to sleep a second night, a third...

Verstael gets used to the company. 

He pities whatever asshole might try and force their way into the house honestly.

It's a little strange, sharing the bed, but when nothing bad happens for several more weeks it’s hard to be concerned by it. The creatures climbs up the stairs, it sleeps. No harm done. Seemingly no harm intended.

Verstael starts shifting a little. If he's home before the sun sets he just lets the house fall dark naturally and, if he comes home and its already dark, he just doesn't bother to turn the lights on. He's not sure why he does it but it doesn't bother him and his 'roommate' moves more freely when the house is comfortably moonlit. Natural light and artificial light both seem to make it uncomfortable.

The thing? It starts to look a little less like a looming monstrosity and, slowly, more like a scraggly human in the dark. It's voice slowly, slowly, becomes less guttural and pained and steadily deeper and richer. Verstael would accuse it of sucking his life force or something untoward but if anything he's been sleeping better later, deeper. 

* * *

One night Verstael comes home late. It's dark in the house, the basement door is open, but—

Verstael hesitates in the foyer at the sound of the pipes. 

Is it using the shower...?

It's certainly never done that before.

Verstael curls up on the couch with a cup of hot chocolate and waits for a little while and, sure enough, eventually those heavy footsteps creep out of the bathroom.

"Hey," Verstael announces himself.

"Evening," the creature greets, coming to sit upon the other end of the couch. 

"You showered," Verstael remarks.

"I am feeling stronger." It explains. "That box," it gestures pointedly, "that dispenses information and entertainment, yes?"

"The television?" Verstael supposes. "Yeah, it does. Why?"

"Can it tell you about the news of the world?" The thing asks.

"Yes," Verstael nods. "Shall I put it on?" 

"Yes, gentle and dark if you can."

Verstael turns the box on and tampers with the settings to lower the ambient glow and contrast as best he can then finds the 24 hour news broadcast. 

In the low glow Verstael can get a clearer picture of the features of his companion. He's really starting to look human. Verstael sits back and the creature leans into its knees, seemingly transfixed by the screen, and they sit in silence for some time until the news starts to repeat the major stories of the day.

"You have a proud bearing, Verstael," the creature murmurs, "who were you before you fell here?"

"I was from an old family in Niflheim," Verstael admits, "I was a scientist. I made weapons and drugs. But the empire was conquered and now I'm in hiding."

"I am in exile," the thing tells him. "I once walked the hallowed halls of the Citadel of Insomnia but they expelled me. It is... it is hard to lose your home, your resting place."

"Hmm," Verstael agrees sympathetically. "I miss my home, very much." He admits. 

"I might've died if you had not come." The creature confesses. "I was very weak."

"And if I couldn't stay here I don't know where I would've gone," Verstael deflects. "We've stuck up a convenient agreement."

"Yes..." The creature seems to want to say more but trails off instead.

"Are you hungry?" Verstael wonders, pondering if he wants to eat himself.

"No, I could not stomach anything today." the beast whispers.

"Yeah, I'm tempted to fall asleep," Verstael sighs. "Are you going to join me?"

"If you will have me." 

"You're welcome to come," Verstael assures, flicking off the TV and taking his empty mug towards the kitchen sink.

"I will repay you, Verstael." The creature repeats. "You may have saved my life."

Verstael's not sure that's a good thing or not yet. He's still not sure what he's dealing with. But so long as they're on good terms he's glad. He can't afford to leave yet and he doesn't need to fight with this thing. Besides... there is a subtle kinship, a gentle comfort and ease. Part of him is lonely, part of him likes the company, and part of him _wants_ to help specific people.

“I’m exhausted,” Verstael diverts, rinsing out his mug. “Bed?”

“Bed.” The creature hums in contented agreement.

* * *

Another week or two in his darkened house passes quietly; they share meals, a bed, the creature showers, they watch the news, the face on the other end of the couch begins to look steadily less and less horrific in outline and colour…

One day, when Verstael comes home around eleven after an illicit chemical trade in Galdin, there are lights on in the house. Not many, but a few of the low lamps are switched on. Verstael is worried, instantly, that someone’s broken in but that seems unlikely especially when he smells the tea leaves wafting through the foyer. No one breaks in and makes a cup of tea.

Verstael tiptoes into the kitchen. He recognises the build at the sink but he’s never seen it illuminated by artificial light however gently. The thing, passable as a human now, turns to him and Verstael can makes out the content, lazy, expression on his face as if he were some domesticated cat.

“I thought light hurt?” Verstael murmurs.

“As my strength returns so does my tolerance for such things,” it tells him.

“You certainly are looking better…” Verstael admits, shrugging his satchel off his shoulder. “Make enough for two?”

This is definitely weird but its also kind of nice.

“Of course,” the creature murmurs, “I hoped you would be home soon.” There’s a brief pause, then; “You have that gait you get when you need a bath. If you start the water, I can bring you a cup?”

Verstael hesitates but feels foolish for it. This thing? This daemon? It’s never made any attempt to hurt him. Why would it start now? Sure, there’s a chance it’ll rip his jugular out now its strong but honestly what does Verstael have to live for anyway? Life’s shit and he doesn’t have any family to mourn him.

So he nods, sheepishly.

“That’d be nice,” he consents. “I’ll start the water.”

Verstael’s still filling the tub when the creature brings him his cup. He places it on the counter, nods politely, and then eases out of the room pulling the door shut behind him with all the airs of civility and such.

Verstael sinks into the tub, takes a deep breath, and drinks his tea. It tastes good. Not quite how he makes it but definitely honey instead of sugar which is very nice. He soaks uninterrupted and assaulted for almost an hour. He even starts to really relax. When he climbs out and pulls on something warm, casual, he drifts back into the lounge.

The TV is on, the news is playing, but his companion does briefly glance up.

“Better?” He supposes.

“Much,” Verstael assures.

“I had to make due with some of your bigger clothes,” the thing tells him, “I apologise.”

“It’s fine,” Verstael promises, joining him on the couch. “I can try and pick you something up tomorrow, if you like?”

“I hate to be further in your debt, but I would appreciate that.” His roommate replies. “I’ve been thinking this place would be warmer if we started the fire?”

“I don’t know how to use a proper fireplace,” Verstael admits apologetically.

“I do,” it tells him. “If you can get wood, I can start it. You’ll find it warms the house much better.”

“Okay,” Verstael pulls out his phone, “I’ll put it on the list. Wood should be cheap. Cheaper than the heating bill out here anyway.”

His companion nods.

“Are you tired now?” It supposes.

“I want to unwind a little,” Verstael shrugs, “I might sit up a little longer.”

“Then I’ll stay with you,” it promises.

“I…” Verstael wavers, pursing his lips.

“Hmm?” It prompts.

“Do you have a name?” Verstael wonders. “It’s becoming strange not knowing what to call you in my head.”

“Ah,” the daemon computes, “understandable. I have several but, for you; Ardyn.”

“Ardyn.” Verstael digests. It’s not a daemon name, it’s not a title, it’s not even ominous. It’s just an old Lucian name. A little old fashioned but respectable and strong.

Ardyn grins softly, like he likes hearing another person say it. Verstael wonders how long its been since he had a proper conversation? How long had he been dying in that basement before Verstael arrived?

“Ardyn, what are you?” Verstael wonders.

“A daemon, of sorts.” Ardyn shrugs.

Verstael doesn’t push, just nods.

* * *

The following day Verstael does get clothes and wood. He loads them into the shitty little boat he uses to go back and forth between Galdin Quay and Angelgard and trudges up the slope to his shitty little house earlier than usual. The sun is still up when he gets home but slumping on the couch he types in his smart-pad and waits for it to set before he even attempts to make dinner.

The sun goes down at 6.35pm and two minutes later Ardyn comes up the stairs out the basement. Verstael’s not sure if he senses it or he has some system but he comes up the stairs, turning on a few of the smaller lights as he drifts into the lounge, and Verstael locks his smart-pad lazily.

“How was your day?” Ardyn asks.

It’s a strange question. Verstael’s had lovers but he’s never shared real estate with a partner. Having someone ask about his day is a foreign concept and here, this Lucian daemon, is nonchalantly asking after him.

“Shorter than usual,” Verstael shrugs. “Not bad really.”

“Did you—?”

“One sec,” Verstael climbs off the couch.

Ardyn certainly looks effortlessly smart in a cheap button up shirt, sleeves rolled up his strong arms, and a pair of dark slacks. Verstael wasn’t sure about shoe size but the house slippers seem appreciated. He looks so human its honestly disconcerting. Verstael tries to ignore it.

“You throw on dinner, I’ll wrestle with this fire,” Ardyn encourages.

“Yeah, right.” Verstael agrees.

But even as he’s cooking Verstael keeps stealing glances back over his shoulder to stare. For all intents and purposes you’d think he had some big Lucian boyfriend cloistered up in this shit hole house. God, that’s a thought…

Ardyn gets the fire crackling easily. He’s obviously had years of practice and, he’s right, it warms the whole house deep and thick and fast. Alongside a home cooked meal it makes the whole house seem suddenly right and safe. Verstael doesn’t think he’s felt so settled since he landed in Lucis.

“I assume your fortune was lost in the war?” Ardyn murmurs over the meal as they eat, dipping the bread in the marinade like a man out of time. Every gesture suggests, subtly, that he belongs in a different century when you know to look for the clues.

“I basically made it out of Gralea with the clothes on my back.” Verstael sighs. “If the Lucians found me they’d likely execute me.”

“You’ve been toiling away long hours to make a living.”

“I’ve got a job at a veterinary clinic as an assistant but that’s not a great living. I’ve been trying to forge contacts in the underground with my more marketable skills but running those deals is complicated.”

“And dangerous.” Ardyn murmurs.

“I have combat training. I’m a good shot.” Verstael assures.

“You’re small though and likely out numbered.” Ardyn chews, both metaphorically and literally.

“Those connections are important. I’ll never regain any power without developing a reputation.”

“This century has electronic currency,” Ardyn supposes, “is there still a physical currency?”

“Yeah?” Verstael frowns.

“Get me some physical money.” Ardyn urges. “I might be able to bolster our coffers temporarily. If we can avoid putting you in dangerous situations for a little bit longer… Well, I’ll be strong enough to hit the mainland soon. Then I can help.”

“Help how exactly?”

“You give those blackguards things, services, in exchange for their dirty money, yes? I can make the exchanges. I’m sturdier than a human. If things turn untoward the other side will quickly regret it if they’re dealing with me.”

Verstael frowns, stewing. He’s cautious to accept help but he knows he needs it. He shouldn’t turn his nose up at anything that makes his life easier right now however suspicious it makes him. He’s helped Ardyn for months. It’s possible Ardyn merely wants to return the favour. That would be good. He’s a daemon. What use does he have for money anyway? The things Verstael wants he’s unlikely to desire for himself.

“You really think you’ll be strong enough to leave the island soon?” Verstael wonders.

“Soon,” Ardyn nods. “I can feel the itch growing. I need to stretch, hunt.”

“Hunt?” Verstael presses.

“Carnivores cannot subsist on substitutes forever. I can eat human food, it helps, especially when it is made with intention, but it won’t totally restore me like eating another daemon or a human.” 

Verstael swallows.

“You are off the menu.” Ardyn assures, elbows on the table as he chews. “You are my friend, my _roommate_. I owe you a great debt. I would not hurt you.”

“You’ve never given me reason to believe otherwise,” Verstael tries to assure them both, nodding slowly. “What—What do you mean? _Made with intention?_ ”

“Magic, old magic, is mostly placing your intent in physical things.” Ardyn shrugs. “You make food with the intent to nourish, strengthen, _heal_. Your food has care in it. That more than the food itself restores me. Your desire to be generous, kind, to me physically manifests.” 

Verstael coughs, flushing. It sounds so _bad_ when he puts it like that. He has wanted them to get along, he has tried to be generous and kind to his daemonic companion, but he didn’t think that was discernible in any hard and fast way.

“You do not fear me.” Ardyn murmurs. “You have treated me as family. It has been a long time since I have been so lucky; it is not something my kind quickly forgets or insults.”

“Your kind?” Verstael supposes, reaching for the unspoken.

“I am a daemon,” Ardyn shrugs.

“I’ve never seen a daemon like you.” Verstael counters.

“Perhaps not,” Ardyn concedes cautiously. “I am a higher order than the common urchins hazing the wildlife in the mountains.”

Verstael considers that for a moment; “your kind, do they have a name?”

“In the old tongue they came to call me _Adagium_.” Ardyn shrugs. “It is more a title than a name.”

Verstael’s never heard the term before. He should look into it.

Still, for now…

For another night Verstael sleeps next to Ardyn in the bed.

* * *

Verstael returns home a little later the following evening. Ardyn’s already up in the house, moving around. At first Verstael’s not sure what he’s doing. The fire is going, warm and crackling, but Ardyn sounds to be in one of the damaged rooms.

Verstael lets himself in cautiously.

“Ardyn?” He fumbles.

“Evening,” Ardyn grunts, up on ladder and coming down from the manhole in the roof.

“What’re…?”

“I found tools in the shed, outside,” he explains. “I was mending the roof.”

The daemon has a hammer and everything.

“You know how to do that…?” Verstael reels.

“I know how to do many things,” Ardyn shrugs. “I think, with some time, I could make these rooms usable. If nothing else it gives me something to do while you are not here.”

“I—right, I—Thank you?” Verstael fumbles.

“Did you eat before you came home?” Ardyn asks, stepping off the ladder.

“Yeah, I got something quickly. Sorry, I was starving.”

“It’s alright.” Ardyn assures. “Were you able to get some cash today?”

“Yes, actually.” Verstael nods, foraging for his wallet in his pocket. He doesn’t have much in his account. He withdrew maybe ninety bucks? A fifty, a twenty, a ten… He wasn’t sure what Ardyn would want.

“Let me see.” Ardyn comes closer, taking the money out of Verstael’s outstretched hand. “Hmm, yes, I can work with this…”

“What’re you thinking?”

“Let’s watch some television,” Ardyn urges. “You have been working all day. You should sit. I need to look at these for a while.”

Verstael wants to pay attention, really he does, but curled up on the couch with the fire popping and churning softly…

He dozes on the couch, news rolling over him, while Ardyn crouches before the coffee table with the cash spread out before him. He seems to be mapping every exact detail of the currency. Verstael watches out of the corner of his eye, not really paying attention and—

Verstael lurches up, dropping the remote.

Ardyn presses the twenty between his hands and spreading them again reveals a thick fucking stack of twenty gil bills.

“H-how…?” Verstael chokes.

“Multiplying inanimate objects with magic is fairly simple. I just have to be careful to make a convincing forgery. If I’m not aware of all the details I’m multiplying the slightest error can intensify.” Ardyn grunts, twisting, presenting Verstael with the cash.

Verstael flicks on the little light on the side table and spreads the money out under it.

He absolutely cannot tell the difference between what Ardyn’s created and the original.

He laughs weakly.

“Does it evaporate or anything? After a period of time?”

“No, it should hold.” Ardyn assures. “I assume giving a vendor fraudulent bills could get you in trouble? These will hold their shape. They’re very easy to duplicate honestly. Old money used to have iron in it and that iron blend discourages magic. This plastic polymer is far easier.”

“Can you do the fifty too…?” Verstael murmurs, heart pounding.

“I just need another few moments to get to know it,” Ardyn nods, “will this get you through the next week or two?”

“ _Easily_.” Verstael laughs. “Thank you, fuck, I—Thank you.”

“We need food.” Ardyn shrugs. “In some ways I’m being selfish. You hardly need to thank me.”

“Still,” Verstael slumps, curling his hands around the stack of twenties. “This is… I don’t have to go out late with a bag of drugs for a little while with this. I can just… _not worry_.”

“The less you have to worry the better,” Ardyn grins softly.

* * *

Over the next two weeks Ardyn’s routine starts shifting. The first morning Verstael wakes up to find Ardyn still in the bed is kind of a shock but Ardyn retreats down to the basement before the sun reaches its highest point. At least at first.

Ardyn’s requests don’t cease either; wooden boards for the house repairs, plaster, sandpaper, drain piping… Verstael doesn’t always understand what Ardyn needs at first but with a little help from Verstael’s smart-pad Ardyn bridges the time gap. It often starts with a goal like; ‘ _I need something to redirect the rain flow off the roof_ ’ which then becomes a google search, which then becomes a brain storm, and then, finally, Ardyn will nod and say; _‘I can work with that’_.

Verstael isn’t cash short at the moment so he’s happy to comply. Other things like firewood, honey… they genuinely seem to be improving his quality of living so he’s happy to fork out for them. He forks out a few extra bucks to get the farmer’s market honey one day and Ardyn immediately notices the difference in their tea and you’d think it was crack cocaine.

Finally, Verstael gets a Saturday off and he stays in bed till at least nine. When he rolls over, the much less nocturnal daemon, is still languid beside him. Verstael stretches, curling his toes, and throws an arm over his face. Ardyn shifts onto his side, hand slipping over Verstael’s middle until his arm is curled around the blonde’s mid-drift. Verstael would fuss but the touch doesn’t panic him and it doesn’t push his boundaries too far too fast so he allows it for now. Honestly, he and Ardyn have been sharing a bed since the daemon had visible tentacles. This is fine.

“Day off?” Ardyn supposes.

“Yeah,” Verstael purrs, “thinking of going into town to get a few things though.”

“Might I accompany you?” Ardyn supposes.

“You’re feeling up to it…?” Verstael glances.

“I think so,” Ardyn nods, “I can get a feel for the mainland and hunt tonight once you’re back here and settled safely. You won’t even notice I’m gone with any luck.”

“I’m a big, ugly, man. I can last a few hours without you.” Verstael snorts. He’s seen daemons hunt. He’s dissected their guts and found human hair and skull fragments. He tries not to think about it too deeply right now. 

“This house is my nest, you are my pack,” Ardyn grunts, “I would be a bad alpha, so to speak, if I left you unattended for too long. It’s already quite a disgrace I let you fetch all the resources and toil away on the mainland while I heal here.”

“I can handle it.” Verstael huffs.

“But it tires you, and it endangers you,” Ardyn murmurs. “You should not have to worry about such things.”

“Well, let’s get you well then,” Verstael supposes. “You can come see the mainland today, tonight you’ll hunt, and then tomorrow you’ll probably feel like a new man.”

“Yes, exactly.” Ardyn nods.

They could eat what’s left in the house but Verstael would rather hit up one of the cafes in town. There’s a coffee shop with fresh scones and homemade jam Verstael’s been hungrily eyeing up for weeks and today feels like a good day for it. So, getting dressed, they load up the boat and head into Galdin Quay.

It’s honestly a little weird to have company. Ardyn has, until now, been an entity that lives exclusively within the four walls of Verstael’s shitty, very cursed, home. Yet here he is, on the wharf, smiling and waving charmingly at passing fishermen. Ardyn’s got quite a social smile. It doesn’t quite travel to his eyes but its courtly like how Verstael was trained back in the royal court in Gralea.

“This is _so fucking good_ ,” Verstael whispers at the café, lathering up a scone like he hasn’t eaten in two years. He misses quality food.

Ardyn chuckles, sipping his tea with a lazy; “I prefer your cooking. The intention is better.”

“Right,” Verstael accepts. He doesn’t consider himself much of a chef but that’s kind of flattering. After all Ardyn doesn’t seem to judge food based of caloric intake or flavor. With Ardyn’s it’s seemingly all about the magic loaded intentionally or not into the meal.

“We should head past the hardware store,” Ardyn supposes, “then groceries?”

“I only have so many arms, Ardyn.”

“I’ll help.” He assures.

“You’re caring anything heavy,” Verstael snorts, only teasing but—

“Deal.”

“I was _kidding_ , muscle head.” Verstael sighs.

“I wasn’t.” Ardyn smirks.

Verstael rolls his eyes.

“Verstael?”

Verstael lurches. It’s Deist, the vet from the clinic. She smiles at him, in her casual gear rather than scrubs, eyes darting subtly between Verstael and Ardyn.

“Hey,” Verstael laughs, “enjoying your day off?”

“You know it,” she grins. “Looks like you got a head start. Those scones are killer.”

“Agreed,” Verstael nods, watching her eyes dart again. “Um, Ardyn this is Deist from my job. Deist this is Ardyn my—” He fumbles for a split second, “—boyfriend.”

Lucians are cool about that kind of shit and honestly it the least suspicious thing he could say right now.

“Well, well,” Deist grins widely. “Where you been hiding this one? I haven’t seen _you_ around, stranger!”

“Bit of a homebody, I confess,” Ardyn smiles in that effortlessly charming way, shaking Deist’s hand warmly.

“It’s my fault,” Verstael covers, “Ardyn’s been helping fix up my wreck of house.”

“Out on Angelgard? Yeah that place is a shit hole, Vers,” Deist snorts. “When I was little all the kids around here used to say it was haunted.”

“We Lucians really should be less superstitious,” Ardyn grins.

Verstael kicks him under the table.

“Absolutely,” Deist nods, “we think everything’s haunted out here. I better grab my coffee though. Have a good weekend Vers and it was nice to meet you Ardyn, hopefully I’ll see you around more often?”

“I’ll do my best,” Ardyn flutters his eyelashes.

“Thanks Deist, have a good one,” Verstael waves her off.

There’s a pause, heavy, and then Ardyn’s wolfish grin zones in on him.

“ _Boyfriend?_ ” He drawls. “Is that the new word for it?”

“Oh shut up,” Verstael huffs, “the simplest lies are the best.”

“I’m flattered Verstael.”

“Just shut up and finish your tea, asshole.”

Ardyn is quiet impressed by the modern world. He seems to be making mental notes of almost everything. He helps Verstael get groceries and a few hardware supplies and makes carrying them back to the boat look easy. He helps Verstael load up then, jumping back down to the wharf, promises;

“I’ll be back late. Don’t wait up.”

“Right,” Verstael consents, kind of worried what this creature will get up to outside his supervision. 

Verstael spends most of the afternoon working on his other pursuits. He sends a few coded messages from his incognito accounts, makes a few dark web deals, gathers some information… It’s not the same as running a vast laboratory but Verstael used to run every aspect of his little projects before Aldercapt realised he was a genius. He’s used to working hard, to playing dirty. He’s a noble; manipulation of the social as much as the genetic comes naturally to him.

If he’d made his MT army vaster, sooner, maybe Niflheim would still be independent. He rues that. Chews on the notion that little Prince Regis will inherit supremacy over his homeland and finds himself more upset than he’s let himself be in a long time. When you’re surviving, when you’re in an active combat situation, there’s no time to feel sorry for yourself if you want to live. Now things are settling more into his favour he can think about it with greater clarity.

Once he’s got his feet he can shift his priorities from ‘survival’ to ‘ _vengeance_ ’.

There’s got to be a Niff loyalist movement somewhere in the rubble. They’ll want his help. Once he finds them on the dark web he can do something useful again. For now? Life is in Lucis and he can’t think about all the dead countrymen rotting in the fields.

Verstael hates how removed he feels from his old life but there’s something surreal and powerful about this strange, new, chapter in his life. He’s wandered into eerie realms. He’s not sure how that’ll effect his future but it inevitably will.

He wants to believe Ardyn genuinely means him no ill will but he wonders under what circumstances their company will part? Surely things can’t stay like this forever? He wonders, as the sun sets, what or _who_ Ardyn is going to hunt tonight. He’s gotten used to Galdin but he finds it hard to become attached to anyone around here. They’re all Lucians. They’d sell him to the authorities in a second if they knew. He’s no more safe or wanted than the daemons in the mountains. He’s just better at hiding.

Eventually it gets too late to stay up any longer, despite his best intentions, and Verstael surrenders to going to bed.

He wakes sometime later, groggy, to the sounds of water in the pipes.

Ardyn, the shower.

He slumps back, relaxing, and fishes up his phone to check the time. 3am. Witching Hour according to legend. He rolls onto his side and tries to stay conscious a little longer.

He’s almost gone a few moments later but Ardyn slumping into bed, hair vaguely wet, stirs him just enough.

Verstael opens his eyes, just a fraction, and reaches out to tentatively brush Ardyn’s wrist. Ardyn grasps his hand tight, holding it, and the man, the thing, is _burning_. He feels like he has a fever.

“Are you alright…?” Verstael mumbles, groggy still.

“ _Amazing_ ,” Ardyn moans, sizzling with satisfaction.

Verstael snorts, kind of bemused and maybe a touch sickened at the prospect.

Still, Ardyn has to eat. Just like Verstael has to do unsavoury things to survive in a country he hates Ardyn has to do what is in his nature. Verstael can’t really judge. He’s killed people in battle and, arguably, that’s less valid than slaughter to survive. Verstael is grateful he’s not on the menu and he doesn’t think he should linger on it anymore than that.

Ardyn twists onto his side, motion abrupt, and Verstael startles.

“Shh, sorry,” Ardyn laughs, “I don’t know my own strength. It’s alright.”

Verstael slackens as best he can, Ardyn’s fingers curled around his; less firm, more tender.

“Sleep,” Ardyn urges, “all is well. Sleep.”

Verstael wants to say that troubles him but, strangely, he believes Ardyn.

* * *

In the morning Ardyn is invigorated with a new strength, sizzling inside, and Verstael should be startled but he finds the energy quite… compelling? He finds he feeds off it, feels more inspired by it, and Ardyn spends most of the day really getting stuck into the house.

In the evening Ardyn curls up beside him on the couch, smelling vaguely of sweat and musk which is…. Compelling it in its own way….? A totally different kind of way mind you. Anyway, Ardyn sits down and tapping Verstael’s knee directs.

“Tell me more about your dealings with blackguards.” Ardyn urges.

“Well…” Verstael gathers up his smart pad and unlocks the screen. “I used to be a scientist. It doesn’t take much for me to cook up chemical cocktails; poisons, steroids, aphrodisiacs.”

“But there’s more you can do, yes?” Ardyn encourages.

“If I had more resources I could do a million things,” Verstael nods. “I have the intellect just not the backing.”

Ardyn hums, glancing at some of his saved dealings over his shoulder.

“Your nation was conquered by Lucis,” Ardyn supposes. “Do some fragments of it survive? Are there others who want retribution?”

“Somewhere, I’m sure,” Verstael murmurs, “but I can’t find them and what I can find seems fractured.”

“Perhaps you ought to lead the charge?” Ardyn suggests. “I can help you. We can orchestrate something grand.”

“I…” Verstael hesitates. “That’s tempting,” he admits, “but what do you get out of it?’

“Lucis ought be destroyed,” Ardyn murmurs, “it would give me great pleasure to see the kings fall. They are the ones that sent me here to die. They banished me from Insomnia. I would have vengeance, same as you.”

“You haven’t really explained where you came from, what you are,” Verstael presses gently.

“I know,” Ardyn admits. “But I’m not ready to say all those words. They’re painful.”

“I get that,” Verstael murmurs, “but I need to be able to trust you totally if we’re going to do something like that.”

“I…” Ardyn sighs. “I was someone important too, before I was exiled. Like you, I had a home, and the Lucis Caelums stole it from me. They damned me. I was a man and now I am a beast. I want my glory back. I want your glory back. We are both spurned and I would see us both happy.”

Verstael sits with that for a moment. “You were human once?”

“Once,” Ardyn nods. “A long time ago now.”

“I believe you,” Verstael admits to both Ardyn and himself. “I want the whole story, eventually, but for now? Let’s give em hell.”

For a while life is another strange new routine.

Verstael starts putting out feelers into the dark web to organise Niff loyalists here and abroad. He continues to make chemical cocktails for his Lucian connections, building funds and a network, but Ardyn makes the exchanges now. He won’t let Verstael go meet with hoodlums in dark parking lots. Sometimes he comes back a little scruffy, once with a bullet wound, but his injuries are minor and heal quickly. Verstael can only guess the other party can’t say they were as lucky.

Verstael tends to stash cash in multiple accounts or hidden in boxes. He doesn’t want too much unexplained cash in his personal accounts as it starts to come in but he has means of spreading the suspicion.

Verstael still goes to his job at the veterinary clinic too. Just to maintain his cover for now. Ardyn likewise makes his face more well known around Galdin just through association. They have lunch together, get groceries and house supplies. They become familiar, friendly, faces around town. Sometimes Ardyn will even come to escort Verstael home from work and Deist always whistles low and grins; “you’re a lucky man, Vers.”

Ardyn hunts regularly now. Once or twice a week he’ll slip out to feast. It’s never much of an issue but the folks around Galdin do start to chatter about daemons fighting each other in the hills around the beach and more tourists going missing. Verstael chooses not to think about it so long as there’s no immediate suspicion pointed on himself or Ardyn.

The most…

The most confusing part is when Ardyn returns from hunts. Ardyn is drifting a little closer now he feels stronger. He will touch the small of Verstael’s back when he’s making dinner, the will take his hand when they’re walking out of the clinic, he will lean into him on the couch, but when Ardyn returns from hunts it’s like some of the hesitation is gone. It’s like he’s consumed by his own invigorated instincts. Ardyn will slip into bed, yank him onto his back, and drag him abruptly closer.

The first time Verstael startles awake, Ardyn pressing their foreheads together, Verstael panics for a second he’s going to eat him. But Ardyn doesn’t bite, he just inhales thickly through his nose, and Verstael clumsily grips his shoulders and stammers groggily;

“W-what’re you…?”

Ardyn pauses, hesitates, but murmurs; “apologies, I got… I’m too wired.”

And then Ardyn eases off him and softly nudges him to curl up again.

But it keeps happening.

Ardyn will slither into bed, press heatedly against Verstael, and the Niff will startle awake not sure what to think.

Slowly Verstael becomes accustomed enough to it that, in a funny way, he starts to look forward to it. He’d never admit that out loud but when Ardyn yanks him close that night Verstael wakes just enough to curl his arms tight around the daemon. Ardyn presses flush against him, face buried in his neck, and Verstael falls back asleep.

Ardyn seems to take that as permission and a few nights later Verstael awakes when Ardyn pushes him onto his back and sprawls over him. As he stirs, Ardyn’s weight pressing into him, he becomes aware of that too hot mouth peppering kisses along his jaw, in the tender parts of his neck, his ear—

Verstael shudders. His ears tingle. Ardyn doesn’t stop, mind you.

What could it hurt…?

Verstael curls his hand sleepily in Ardyn’s hair and tugs the daemon up. His kiss is sleepy, sloppy, but Ardyn burns into it passionately.

Looks like the start of another routine.


End file.
